


An Incident at the Smoky Bar

by resdaMalos



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Midnight Crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:31:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resdaMalos/pseuds/resdaMalos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've taken the liberty of re-editing the work from its original iteration in the MSPA Forum fanfic thread. Not for want of accuracy, but because I tend to do these things if left unchecked for long enough.</p>
    </blockquote>





	An Incident at the Smoky Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken the liberty of re-editing the work from its original iteration in the MSPA Forum fanfic thread. Not for want of accuracy, but because I tend to do these things if left unchecked for long enough.

"Welcome back to the Smoky Bar, Mr. Slick, Mr. Boxcars, Mr. Deuce, Mr. Droog."

A trembling hand pushed open the doors. Its patrons looked up for a moment to acknowledge the newcomers. One particularly hardboiled individual tipped his fedora, while those with lesser constitutions ducked into their booths. The bartender prepared four glasses and four stools. Everyone paid the Midnight Crew the respect they were due.

All but one.

A tall, dark woman seated at the bar took a long drag from her cigarette, pointedly ignoring the crew's entrance.

Spades Slick felt the corners of his mouth turn downward. "Hearts. Clubs. Diamonds. Make yourself scarce for a minute."

"Got it, boss," Clubs Deuce replied brightly. The others silently nodded assent, and made their way to a booth on the far end.

Spades made his way towards the bar, already catching the faint odor of cigarettes. Though he hadn't seen her for months, he recognized the woman's trench and hat from the second he entered the bar. After all, he was the one who bought them. "Evenin', Snow."

Snowman turned to acknowledge Spades's presence, and pursed her lips, aiming a puff of smoke straight into his face. "Nice of you to drag your carapace all the way here to see me, Jack." She flicked the ash off her cigarette into the ashtray next to her drink; Spades could see from the number of smoldering filters that she had been here for a while.

His perpetual scowl showed no sign of fading. "Not Jack," he muttered. "It's 'Spades Slick' now, and you know it," he shot back, as the bartender began preparing his usual, no questions asked. "And I ain't here for you."

"So you say." Snow picked up the martini glass in front of her, swirling its contents slightly. The corners of her lips turned up a bit, as she turned over the new name in her head. "Spades Slick... Got a nice ring to it."

"Yeah." The drink came sliding down the bar. Spades caught it in an outstretched hand. "I'm here on business," he continued. "Another crew's been planning to move in on our turf. We figured some diplomacy was in order."

"Diplomacy." Snow let out a single "ha" before continuing. "Right. I see your War Chest tucked into your coat pocket."

"You know how it goes," he declared. "Some insurance is necessary to keep things in order."

Snow blew out another cloud of smoke, contemplating the thought. "I heard about them," she replied. "You going to meet Lord English himself?"

"Nah, just some lackey," Spades answered nonchalantly. "If he doesn't have the stones to meet me in person then there won't be much to say." He took a long drink, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat. "So, how's life as a traitorous bitch treatin' ya?"

"Said the pot to the kettle," Snowman's eyes narrowed. "If you must know, I've found a nice business opportunity for myself."

"Huh," said Spades, feigning interest.

"A gang is planning to move in on your turf. We figured... some diplomacy was in order." Snowman nonchalantly took a drag from her cigarette, filling the bar with the scent of ash and nicotine.

Spades picked up his glass but stopped short, coming to a realization. "...No."

Snowman gave him a condescending half-smile. She doffed her hat; to Spades's chagrin, the joker emblem had been replaced with a black and white circle, the number eight stamped upon it. "It seems you were here for me after all," she continued, watching Spades sputter his disbelief.

He stood up, sending his stool clattering to the floor. The bar grew silent, fearful of disturbing the spectacle in front of them. "You BITCH. You're with the Felt?" He slipped the Ace of Spades from his coat pocket, brandishing the cast iron horse hitcher at her menacingly. "I can't kill you, but you had better come up with a good reason for me not to put you on a fucking stretcher."

"Tut, tut, Mister Slick," a smooth voice replied from behind him. "You don't want to do that." Spades turned around, hearing the sound of metal tapping against wood. He saw an alien-looking fellow, clad entirely in green, save for his maroon tri-corner hat emblazoned with the number seven. In his hands was a red crowbar, and he looked ready to lash out at any moment.

"Crowbar," Snowman sighed, "You don't have to do that. I can handle Spades myself."

"Nonsense, Snowman," the green man replied. "The Felt watches their own."

Spades growled, preparing for a rumble. The bar patrons feared the worst; those with weaker constitutions slowly filed out of the bar, no one the wiser. "Boxcars! Droog! Deuce! Get over here!"

"I'm afraid they can't help you," the man replied. Spades turned towards their booth, only to find two other green men already there. A man in a striped hat numbered "11" was singlehandedly holding down Clubs and Diamonds, while Hearts was facing down another, far larger man, wearing the number 15. Spades watched in genuine surprise - his crew was smarter than this. How could these guys have coordinated an ambush like this, right under their noses?

"Drop your weapon and I'll call them off," Crowbar said, his voice dripping with contempt.

Spades relented. If they could take down Hearts, who knows what else they could do. No, the real fight would be later. He slipped the card back into his War Chest, all the while shooting him a fierce stare.

"That's better," Crowbar continued. Mister Fifteen released his hands; Hearts shoved him away with a grunt of frustration. Mister Eleven released Diamonds Droog from his headlock, and gently removed Clubs Deuce from the crook of his shoulder, neatly depositing him on the table. "Matchsticks, Cans. Let's go." In a mockery of civility, Crowbar tipped his hat to him. "We'll be seeing you around, Mister Slick." Without another word, the trio left.

The bar slowly began to settle back to normal, as Snowman took another long drag from her cigarette. Spades picked up his bar stool and sat back down, not wanting to stir up a second commotion. "I'll ask you again. What the hell are you thinking?"

"Lord English had something to offer that you never could, Jack." Snowman glared. The pair's eyes met for the first time since they started talking.

"What could he possibly give you that we can't?" Spades scoffed. "I built this town."

"You don't get it, do you? You took something away from me, long ago, and I want it back." When she saw Spades's raised eyebrow, she continued. "Power." Snowman stated bluntly. "I ran with you and your three goons for a long time. But I was never more than a lackey to you."

"Ha," Spades laughed again. "So now you're English's lackey? Seems like a lateral move to me."

"I may be number Eight," Snowman shot back, "but I'm English's right hand. His most powerful piece on the board. The Queen." She relished the last two words, taking extra time to enunciate them. "It's not like anyone can tell me otherwise," she added with a smirk.

"Always trying to get your way," he mused. "Typical."

"You should know this by now," she added. "I always get my way." With that, she stood up and made her way to the door.

"Snow." Spades caught her by the arm. "One last thing." Snowman relented, turning around. Spades reached into his coat pocket again, and drew a long, thin box from the deck of cards.

Snowman opened it - inside was a long, black cigarette holder, with white trim. "How thoughtful of you. But since when have I ever needed a weapon? What do you expect me to do with it?"

"You can go and poke your eye out with it, for all I care," Spades spit, before sighing. "I... meant to give that to you a while back. But you were already gone." He stood up. "We're done here."

"Catch you later... Slick." Snowman twirled her new cigarette holder in her right hand.

Spades nodded silently. "Boys. We're outta here." The Midnight Crew left into the night.

Snowman took out another cigarette, lit it, and took one last deep breath. As she slid it into the cigarette holder, she noticed a small etching on the end, small enough that only she could see it. "A spade," she thought aloud. "Heh." She called on the bartender. "Another one of my usual," she said. "Make it a double."


End file.
